


extra credit

by hurryup



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Drunken Shenanigans, M/M, One Night Stands, Teacher-Student Relationship, Wine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-19 12:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9440774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurryup/pseuds/hurryup
Summary: In which Link is a college professor, Allen is his student, and sex makes everything complicated.A love story in liquor, tweed coats, enabling friends, doctoral theses, andtotallynot caring about who's peeing on Kanda.





	1. Chapter 1

"Don't you think we're getting a little old for this?" Link raised an eyebrow, eyeing the shot glass suspended between Tokusa's fingers with critical intent. The amber liquid inside sloshed inside, threatening to spill as Tokusa slapped it down against the bar in front of Link.  
  
"You're twenty-eight, Howie, not fifty," Tokusa said, nudging Link's shoulder with his own. "The new semester starts tomorrow— this is our last night to get a little wild before you're inevitably swallowed by the raging machine of academia."  
  
"I don't need to get _wild_ ," Link insisted. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming there at the base of his skull. "I'm a professor, Tokusa, not a drunken frat boy."  
  
He'd never much liked bars, not even back when he'd been in college and Tokusa insisted on dragging him out in search of trouble every Friday night. Too many lights. Too much noise. Too many hands shoving against him, voices in his ear. Amid the shouting and the laughter, Link often felt more like an observer than a participant. There was something about this scene that didn't quite reach him.  
  
In all honesty, he found himself wishing he'd stayed home and spent his last night on break in the safe confines of his bedroom. He could be reading a book. Revising tomorrow's course outlines. Endlessly outlining and re-outlining his eventual doctoral thesis. Stress baking. Literally anything but this.  
  
Tokusa shrugged, looking entertained by Link's protestations.  
  
"Yeah, but you'll be dealing with drunken frat boys every day for the next fourteen weeks. Trust me, cutting loose now just might save you from the off chance of a nervous breakdown."  
  
Madarao and Tewaku came to join them, catching the tail end of the conversation. She had a fruity looking cooler poised between her carefully manicured fingertips. Madarao was empty-handed; the evening's designated driver, as it were.  
  
"Seconded," Tewaku echoed. There was a pleasant seriousness to her voice; Link often thought the was the safe middle ground between Tokusa's playfulness and Madarao's stoicism. "Remember when I dropped by while you were correcting midterms? You looked like death."  
  
Link folded his arms, lips still pursing into an expression of contrition, but he did not offer a defense. Tokusa grinned.  
  
"Come on," he went on, leaning forwards. "After tonight, you can go back to being a paper-pushing hermit for as long as you like, I promise. I won't even comment on your sweater vests. Much."  
  
Link sighed, and Tokusa preened, knowing he'd won. There was something distinctly catlike about Tokusa's eyes. Maybe it had something to do with the predatory narrowness of them, or their playful shiftiness, or the way they suggested someone who was very much used to getting his own way.  
  
"If you try to take any videos of me doing something embarrassing, I will sue," Link threatened, lifting to shot to his lips and knocking it back with one small shudder of disgust.  
  
"Why, Howie, I would _never_ ," Tokusa said, placing one hand over his heart.  
  
He sounded like the world's dirtiest liar.

 

* * *

  
  
  
"New semester, same problems," Lavi announced, idly tracing the brim of his glass with one finger. He'd ordered some kind of obscure, regional specialty with a elaborate-sounding French name. It smelled a little sweet, like amaretto.  
  
"At least you don't have to take calculus," Lenalee countered. She ran a hand through her hair, looking distinctly troubled by the prospect. "What a nightmare."  
  
"That's why we drink, Lena. We drink to forget."  
  
Lavi lifted his glass and took a cautious sip, then a second, once it's contents apparently passed his inspection.  
  
The two of them fell into a familiar pattern of friendly banter, and Allen relaxed in his seat, allowing his mind to wander. The last, lingering suggestion of sunlight filtered through the windows, giving the room a kind of honeyed glow; the cedar wood floors, the bar, and tables and chairs seemed almost gold in the wash of that losing light. In another five minutes, the spell would be broken, and it would be night.  
  
For a small bar in a sleepy college town, it was pretty damn crowded. Well, maybe that was just to be expected the day before a new semester. Student desperation inhabited the room as pervasively and invisibly as the aromatic musk of tap beer and aging mahogany.  
  
Allen had been watching the entry of a blonde man in a tweed coat and internally debating whether or not he manage to make tweed work when Lavi interrupted his thoughts, giving him a playful tap on the shoulder. "Oi, spacecase, you gonna buy a drink?"  
  
"What?" Allen straightened up, taking a minute to register what exactly Lavi had asked. "Oh, no. No, I'd rather not."  
  
Anticipating further questioning, Allen cycled internally through a list of excuses; I have an early class tomorrow, I'm on medication, alcohol makes me gassy, basically anything other than admitting what an absolutely terrible, miserable drunk he was. All that consideration seemed to be for nothing, though; Lavi just shrugged, accepting it, and went back to his own drink.  
  
"Good for you, defying the alcoholic-music-student stereotype."  
  
"I thought that was theater students?" Lenalee frowned over her raspberry liqueur, and Lavi shrugged.  
  
"Both. Definitely both."  
  
Allen rolled his eyes, attention wandering back towards the door. The blonde in the tweed had settled by the bar with a few friends, and Allen decided that the tweed really _was_ working, in a sexy librarian kind of way—  
  
Then, a familiar face stepped through the door, and Allen nearly had a fucking stroke.  
  
"Wait, is that Kanda?" He blurted. Lavi and Lenalee, not ones to miss out on something as dramatic as the sudden emergence of Allen's ex-boyfriend, whipped their heads around to face the door. Allen put his face in his hands, squirming to angle himself directly behind Lavi. "Oh my God, hide me or something."  
  
Lavi craned his neck to observe Kanda in what had to be the most obvious, tactless act of espionage in history.  
  
"I don't think you need to worry about that, buddy. Looks like his attention is, um, otherwise occupied."  
  
_Otherwise occupied?_  
  
Allen's eyes bounced back to Kanda, and found that that was absolutely the case. At first, he'd thought Kanda had simply been pressed up against the person next to him on account of the limited space, but on second glance, he realized that the two of them were actually _holding hands_. Allen's eyes went wide.  
  
Kanda's companion was a boy about their age, though Allen had never seen him at school before. Fresh-faced, with big, alert eyes that glanced up at Kanda with an expression that seemed almost insultingly sweet.  
  
"Are... are they dating?" Allen asked, affecting a tone of mild, detached interest. Still, he couldn't quite keep himself from staring at the two of them. From across the bar, he could see their lips moving in easy conversation. Although the room was packed, Kanda seemed to address him as if he were the only person in the whole world. It was intimate. So intimate his gut twisted in response.  
  
Lenalee hummed in confirmation, nodding her head. "Yeah, I heard he reunited with his childhood sweetheart or something. Alma Karma, I think. He goes to Dawson."  
  
"Oh," Allen said lifelessly. "I see. Huh."  
  
Okay, so Kanda had a new, downtown boyfriend that shared a deep, lifelong bond with him. No big deal. No big deal at all. It especially wasn't a big deal when Alma cupped Kanda's cheek, beamed at him, and brought their lips together. Allen wasn't even slightly tempted to grab the nearest chair and fling it across the room at the both of them. Really.  
  
Lavi leaned forwards on his elbows, whistling quietly. "Word on the street is that Alma's kinda..." Alma deepened the kiss, his hands winding up to fist into Kanda's hair, "...  _Possessive_."  
  
_No fucking kidding,_ Allen thought. _That_ wasn't a simple _I love you, honey_ kiss _._ Alma was marking his territory. He might as well whip it out and starting peeing on Kanda like a dog.  
  
Okay, that was a really, _really_ terrible metaphor. He was suddenly extremely grateful he hadn't said it out loud.  
  
Not like Allen _cared_ , of course. Kanda could date whoever he wanted. They were over. Finished. Completely uninvolved. Passing acquaintances. Allen didn't miss him, or all the mind-blowing sex, or the way Kanda could be so strangely attentive, and he certainly didn't wish _he_ was still the one peeing on Kanda.  
  
Yeah, that metaphor really wasn't doing it for him.  
  
When Allen turned to face her again, he noticed the look Lenalee was giving him. It wasn't just any look, either, it was the patented-formula Lenalee Look of friendly concern. Of pity. Her big, beautiful eyes had taken on a doe-like softness, radiating an empathy that was as boundless as the cosmos themselves.  
  
Ridiculous, really, when he was so completely fine.  
  
"Well, I'm happy for them," Allen said, flashing her a smile.  
  
Furtively, he stole another glance at Alma and Kanda and realized, with something of a start, that he recognized the shirt Alma was wearing. It was one of Kanda's shirts. One Allen definitely remembered from the nights it had sat rumpled on his own bedroom floor.  
  
Funny thing. He couldn't remember Kanda ever sharing his clothes with Allen.  
  
"I'm really, _really_ happy for them," Allen repeated. Then, in complete abandonment of his previous resolution, he reached for Lavi's drink and started to chug.

 

* * *

  
  
  
Link was on the fast track from tipsy to full-on drunk. It was pretty easy to observe that particular shift, because the more buzzed he got, the less he was able to hold himself back from rambling. Sometimes lecturing. Almost always on a subject that held very little interest to his friends, neither of whom worked in the same field as him.  
They were entertained, rather, by Link's increasingly wild gesticulation and sloppy, graceless passion. According to Tewaku, it was downright endearing.  
  
The subject of the evening was a personal favourite of his, and one Tokusa had definitely been forced to sit through at least twice before; Dr. Malcolm Lvellie's doctoral thesis.  
Dr. Lvellie had been Link's academic adviser back when he'd been studying in college, and he was the dean of John Abbott College's Department of Humanities, Philosophy and Religion. He also happened to be a superstar in his field, severe and older than dirt but more fiercely intelligent than anyone Link had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Link idolized him with an ardor that verged on obsession.  
  
It was honour just working in the same department as him.  
  
(Sometimes, Link liked to fantasize that Lvellie might someday formally hand his position down to Link. Sometimes, when Lvellie was out of his office, Link would sneak in and sit at his desk and fiddle with his pens. Just to feel what it'd be like. Of course, he'd rather die a slow, painful death than admit that out loud.)  
  
"Honestly," Link said, voice growing fervent in the full throes of his hero-worship. "The— the post-structuralist deconstruction of the Mark and Luke Gospels. Completely _brilliant_ , just so fantastically original and _provocative_. The... the Freudian reading of Mark's linguistic logic?"  
  
Link dragged his hands down over his face, shaking his head in slow wonder.  
  
"God. He was so, _so_ right, Tokusa, Mark's Gospel is so essentially epitomized by the language of the unconscious. He was so _right_."  
  
"Link," Tokusa said, with the loving sincerity only a best friend was capable of, "you're really fucking weird."  
  
"It was brilliant," Link insisted. He put his head in his hands, suddenly gripped by a wave of passionate despair. "I will never write anything half as brilliant."  
  
He'd never complete his doctoral thesis. He'd never write anything half as clever or inventive or progressive to the field of theological study. Because that was it. The field of theological study had peaked with Lvellie's deconstructionist perspective on the Gospels. He had set the unattainable bar for analytical brilliance, and there was no way Link could ever be up to par.  
  
"Sure you will," Tokusa said, slapping Link on the back. "The man's ancient, and you've got your whole career ahead of you. Before he was the dean, he was a teacher, too. Take it slow. You're not even thirty, do you even need to be thinking about a doctorate?"  
  
Link, who took great pride in barreling through his academic and scholarly career with as much speed and passion as the field afforded, was not pleased to take it slow. Of _course_ he ought to be thinking about his doctorate, and he should be thinking about a second degree, and tenure in his position, and contributing his work to national academic journals, and the endgame of his career. That much seemed obvious to him.  
  
The next twenty years were staring him in the face with stark, morbid intent, and he wouldn't waste them away and achieve nothing.  
  
If he couldn't achieve at least half as much as Dr. Lvellie, he'd be a disgrace to his field.  
  
He stared down into his drink as if the answers to his problem could be found somewhere at the bottom of the glass. In pursuit of it, he tipped the glass back and emptied it.  
  
"I'm... I'm gonna be the dean of the department," Link said, voice just teetering on the edge of slurry. "Fifteen years from now, I swear."  
  
"Ambitious."  
  
"Watch me," Link said. He slammed his glass back down onto the counter, and thought about Jesus' body grafted onto the cross, Mark's Gospel, the book that bleeds, and the way the lights overhead looked almost like spotlights when his vision started to blur.

* * *

 

"It's just, I don't, I don't _care_ who pees on him," Allen said emphatically to no one in particular. He punctuated his statement with an enormous swig of his fourth vodka cocktail, making a conscious effort not to slop it all over his chin. "Reeeally, I _don't_."  
  
"Excuse me?" Lavi looked flabbergasted. Allen ignored him, pressing on.  
  
"I'm good-looking," Allen insisted. "And I'm— I'm good enough, aren't I? I deserve someone who'll, who'll treat me _right_."  
  
Lenalee's expression softened. Lavi still looked desperately confused.  
  
"Of course you do," Lenalee said, rubbing his arm encouragingly.  
  
"No, seriously, I'm gonna need you to explain that pee thing," Lavi said.  
  
Allen nodded dumbly, hunching over in his seat just a little bit—  God, he felt stupid and miserable and pissed off and this, this was why he didn't drink. All the same, paradoxically, it felt a little satisfying. Satisfying to just sit and stew and wallow in the black abyss that had opened up in the pit of his stomach the moment he'd seen Alma press that stupid, gorgeous kiss to Kanda's stupid, gorgeous mouth.  
  
"I don't need stupid Kanda," he went on. "Stupid Kanda and all his... all his fucking _hair_."  
  
Lenalee kept petting his arm, talking him down with a voice that could lull a beast. "Of course you don't, Allen."  
  
"Who peed on Kanda?" Lavi demanded to know. "And _when_? I need answers."  
  
"I just need to move on," Allen said. He slammed his hands down against the table. "Find someone else. Someone _better_."  
  
"That's a great idea," Lenalee beamed. Lavi put his head in his hands, mumbling about pee with a haunted expression.  
  
Yeah. That sounded good. He'd find the hottest new boyfriend in the whole world. Someone better than Alma Karma. Show Kanda how goddamn well he was doing without him. How much better Allen could do. And then Kanda would cry and beg for Allen back and Allen could dramatically slam the door in his face and it would be fucking awesome.  
  
Allen staggered upright, scanning the bar for the best-looking guy around. Other than Kanda. Or Lavi. He'd already slept was Lavi a year and a half ago, and that had been weird.  
  
His eyes kept returning to the blonde in the tweed jacket, sitting at the bar with his three friends. The more Allen paid attention to him, the more he found he liked. He was neat and mature looking in a way that defied everything Kanda had been. He wore his blonde hair in a careful braid, bangs framing his sharp yet delicate features to an effect that managed to be... nice. Really nice.  
  
Even better, he looked to be at least half a decade older than Allen. Serious, collected, and adult. The antithesis of Kanda and his sour, juvenile spats of anger, his sometimes adolescent moods of sulkiness.  
  
Lenalee followed Allen's line of sight, and frowned. "Oh, maybe not him. He's cute, but he looks just a little too old for you."  
  
"I'm gonna talk to him," Allen said loudly.  
  
Lenalee put her face in her hands and let out a noise of exasperation. "Are you even listening to me?"  
  
Allen was not listening. Fueled by vodka, spite, and willful determination, he shimmed away from the table and Lenalee's reproachful look.  
  
Lavi watched him leave with mournful eyes, piss-related inquiries remaining tantalizingly unanswered.

 

* * *

  
"Hey, look sharp," Tokusa whispered. Unceremoniously, he shoved at Link's right shoulder, and Link started upright— the young man had slid up right next to him before Link had even had the chance to register he was being approached.  
  
Link blinked, taking him in. A stranger, he was certain; he would certainly remember a face like that, at least. Hair dyed white, a full sleeve of tattoos coursing up his right arm. Mischievous smile. Early twenties, Link guessed. Extremely bright eyes, too.  
  
Link liked that in someone.  
  
"Hey there," he said, bright eyes falling on Link with that special glow.  
  
"Hello," Link responded carefully, feeling a little out of his depth. Link glanced behind him to find that Tokusa had disappeared at such lightning speed he might as well have teleported. Damned man. Of course he would choose to vanish now, of all times.  
  
The man's eyes fall on Link's blazer jacket. "You know, I didn't think people still wore tweed."  
  
Link blinked, thoroughly taken aback. "Well. Now you know."  
  
The man brought one hand to his mouth, biting back a rueful smile. "Wait, wait. That sounded rude, didn't it?  
  
"Just a tad."  
  
His smile spread into a bashful grin. "Backtracking, backtracking. I like the tweed, seriously. It looks good on you. You look good."  
  
" _Oh_ ," Link said, immediately flustered. A terrible habit of his, and the haze of alcohol did nothing to downplay his reaction; he could feel his face light up into a hot blush. "Thank you. You. You look good, too."  
  
The young man looked immensely pleased with this, smile reaching his eyes and turning up at the ends in such a manner that Link found himself being reluctantly charmed.  
  
Suddenly, Link realized there were a few extra sets of eyes fixed upon him. From the direction the tattooed boy had emerged from, he could make out the intent expression of a girl who could hardly be older than twenty and a boy that looked impossibly entertained by the proceedings.  
  
Link nodded in their direction, bemused. "Are those your friends?"  
  
"Yeah. They're probably really anxious about how well I'm doing coming on to you."  
  
Link blanched, feeling the flush spread all the way to his neck and ears. "Coming on to— _pardon_?"  
  
"Coming on to you," he repeated, enunciating clearly. "I mean, I'd serenade you, but I'm short a piano. And your name. You know, for rhyming purposes, of course."  
  
Link fiddled with his glass, feeling absolutely mortified.  
  
"Link."  
  
"Link," he repeated. "I like that. I'm Allen. And, er, is that your friend over there?"  
  
Allen gestured somewhere vaguely across the room, and Link groaned.  
  
"Side ponytail?"  
  
"Yeah," Allen confirmed. "He also making some very, um, colorful gestures."  
  
Link turned around, following Allen's guidance to the far end of the room. With his right hand, Tokusa formed a hole with his thumb and forefinger, and penetrated it slowly with his left index. Very charming indeed. An absolute prince.  
  
"I swear, I can't take him anywhere," Link sighed, fanning his fingertips over his eyes in exasperation. Allen laughed. It was a nice sound. Light and clear, like bells. So sweet and so plaintive as to be faintly musical.  
  
"God, can I ever relate," he said, lips quirking up into a faint smile. "So, am I or am I not?"  
  
"What?" Link frowned, having lost track of the conversation. Allen raised a brow, coy.  
  
"Doing a good job of coming on to you.  
  
"Ah," Link said. He circled the brim of his drink with his forefinger and then, self-conscious, glanced back at Tokusa. Tokusa gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up, and Link took a breath, stomach strangely hot and head clouded with drink. "I... haven't quite made up my mind yet. One should always aim to acquire sufficient evidence before coming to any conclusion."  
  
"Then maybe we should continue this experiment," Allen said. His eyes flickered to the unoccupied chair next to Link, emptied by Tokusa in his apparent pursuit to afford the two of them privacy "Mind if I sit down?"  
  
Somehow, Link found that he really, _really_ didn't mind.  
  
Not so long as he got to hear that laugh again.

 

* * *

 

All things considered, Allen thought, his back hitting the flat surface of Link's bedroom door, things were going quite well. Allen yanked up Link's shirt and worked it over his head.  
  
He liked what he saw, liked it enough that he was absurdly tempted to get down on his knees and pray. Link's broad shoulders tapered down into a smooth, narrow waist; he was fit, too, in the slender sort of way Allen liked. Did he work out? Maybe Allen should have thought to ask that about an hour ago, while they were still knocking back shots and aimless flirtations over the bar counter.  
  
He'd liked that, honestly, maybe even as much as he was enjoying touching him. Link was smart, something Allen had never realized he might like in a man, and his sense of humor was so fantastically dry. That wasn't to devalue how much Allen enjoyed touching him, however. He enjoyed it very, very much. They'd barely been able to keep their hands to themselves on the cab ride back to Link's place, much to the driver's obvious exasperation.  
  
Allen would probably have the sense to be embarrassed by that tomorrow, but for now, he didn't care.  
  
For now, he ran his hands over the slate of Link's stomach, feeling the surface of his skin shift each time Link rolled his hips. Allen blinked and watched for a while, enamored.  
  
“I don't... usually do this," Link said. A glassy sort of haze was falling over his eyes, inspired either by alcohol or want or some intoxicating interplay between the two. His face was lit up by a near luminescent flush. Cute, Allen thought. Really cute. "That probably sounds cliched, but—"  
  
There was the sound of a laugh, light as air and totally buoyant. It took Allen a moment to realize it was his own laugh. The sound of it delirious to even his own ears. Allen tucked his head momentarily against the crook of Link's neck. Link felt good. Allen felt good, too, hot, happy— almost hysterical with the simple pleasure of _wanting_ and being _wanted_.  
  
"A little late to buy me dinner first," he said, angling his hips against Link's, rocking back and forth for the hint of friction.  
  
Link gasped, reacting enthusiastically to the hot brand of Allen's clothed dick moving against his own. He nosed at Allen's collar, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses along Allen's jaw and neck. Allen tilted his head back to better receive them, too buzzed to hold back any sound he might make, hissing and crying out when Link's teeth nipped at his earlobe. He wound his hands into Link's hair, tangling up that perfect braid.  
  
Link returned to kiss Allen, wild and sloppy and _fuck yes_. Allen jolted against the tell-tell press of Link's cock grinding into the seam of his jeans and oh, he could just melt into this.  
  
He didn't know Link's full name, or what he did, and he'd known him for less than three hours, but goddamn, he was starting to _like_ this guy.  
  
Link retreated from the kiss to catch his breath, and Allen took the opportunity to take him by the tie and guide him towards the bed. He fell backwards, and Link toppled on top of him. Not that he seemed to mind. He ducked back in to kiss Allen urgently, and the two stayed like that for a while, kissing and grinding and making aimless dirty talk, _more, please, you like that don't you, God, fuck me.  
_  
In compliance with Allen's last half-gasped, request, Link lifted himself off of Allen, stumbling into the bathroom for lube and condom while Allen shimmied free from the rest of his clothes. Good. Hot. Taste of honey whiskey at the back of his throat. When was the last time he'd been able to drink without feeling miserable?  
  
He could hear his phone buzzing on the floor in the pocket of his pants. Lavi and Lena, probably. Well, they could hear all about it tomorrow.  
  
Link returned, and Allen turned over onto his back, canting his hips helpfully in Link's direction. Beautiful stranger, touch me, touch me. And Link did, sinking his fingers inside Allen and kissing his back. He was careful. So careful and so thorough that he reduced Allen to squirming and begging.  
  
He panted, trying to catch his breath as arousal made every inch of him extremely sensitive to the touch. Link lifted his hips, coaxing Allen on to all fours so that his knees were further apart. The feel of Link's hands was surprisingly rough for one who seemed so polished.  
  
Allen closed his eyes. Drowned everything out, everything but this.  
  
When Link entered Allen, he let out a whine, clenching around Link in a manner that felt so far out of his conscious control, tension strung through his entire body. Link's gripped his hips, settling deep inside Allen, each thrust harder than the last. The less finesse, the more Allen liked it. It was _perfect_ , really, how he didn't have to think about anything at all, how he could just focus on this.  
  
"Fuck, Allen," Link said, voice rough and low. It was the first time he'd heard Link swear all evening, and it seemed so totally unlike him that it managed to be completely hot. One of his hands slid down over Allen's body, wrapping around his cock and pumping him in time with his thrusts. Allen keened, overwhelmed with sensation. "I wanna see you come. Wanna hear the sounds you'll make when I get you off. Can you do that for me?"  
  
Allen closed his eyes, and, in an uncharacteristic act of model compliance, did exactly as he was told.

* * *

  
  
" _Well_ ," Lenalee temporized, staring down at her phone. More specifically, the unanswered string of text messages she'd sent Allen after she saw him leave the bar. "I guess he's not coming back tonight."  
  
"Good for him," Lavi snorted. "I mean, so long as Tweed isn't some kind of serial killer."  
  
"I'd better remind him to stay hydrated," Lenalee decided, and she went back to texting furiously.

* * *

 

Allen woke up to the sun streaming in through the window, the sound of his phone buzzing, and the distant ache of a headache he couldn't quite explain.  
  
For the first ten seconds or so, he genuinely thought he was back in his own bedroom. A Sunday morning, maybe.  
  
Then, several thoughts came to mind. First, that he was naked. Second, that he was in a stranger's bed. Third, that it was the first day of the winter semester. Fourth, that _he was naked in a stranger's bed on the first day of the winter semester what was his life._  
  
He sat up in bed, glanced around wildly. Link was resting peacefully on the other side of the bed. Asleep, he had a soft look to him; mouth relaxed, brow line uncreased, hair splayed around him. The gold was somewhat striking when contrasted against the crisp, white linens.  
  
Last night. Allen's mind flooded with a tidal wave of images, words, phantom sensations.  
  
Well.  
  
They sure did have sex, didn't they?  
  
_Amazing_ sex, really, now that he thought about it— the more Allen thought about it, the more debauched he felt. Amazing, frantic, drunken sex with some older guy he barely knew.  
  
Not his proudest moment, but... Allen bit his lip, watching Link's chest rise and fall with the even pattern of his breathing.  
  
Yeah. Okay. Hard to regret that.  
  
For an absurd, giddy moment, he wondered what it'd be like to roll on top of Link, wake him up with his tongue and go for a round two—  
  
Then he realized with a start that he had an 8:30 AM class and he had _no fucking clue_ what time it was.  
  
He cursed internally, rolling carefully out of the sheets and stumbling around, gathering up his discarded clothes and fishing for his phone. He tapped the home button, and the screen lit up.  
  
7:32 AM. (2) Missed calls. (14) Unread messages.  
  
Less than an hour to make it to class. Allen hopped into his pants and underwear frantically, unlocking his phone with one hand and thumbing through his most recent messages.

  
**Lavi, Mon 1:23 AM:** HOLY SHIIIIIIT DID YOU REALLY JUST LEAVE WITH TWEED  
**Lavi, Mon 1:30 AM:** YOU GO GLENN COCO  
**Lavi, Mon 1:31 AM:** i mean unless he's like a serial killer or something

  
He skimmed the rest and groaned, flipping to Lenalee's text chain instead.  
  
**Lenalee, Mon 1: 24 AM:** Use protection, no matter what!!! And don't let him pressure you into anything you don't wanna do!!! (♥u♥*)  
**Lenalee, Mon 1:59 AM:** Remember to drink water when you wake up, and please text me!!!  
  
He sighed, shoving his phone back into his pocket while he wrestled his shirt back on over his head. He'd probably have to call an Uber, and if he wanted to be on time, he'd have to do it fast.  
  
He glanced back at the bed. Link was still sound asleep. Maybe he'd regret this whole thing when he woke up. Maybe he'd laugh it off awkwardly, shrugging it off as a crazy, boozy one night stand.  
  
But there was always the off-chance he wouldn't see it that way, and Allen kind of wanted to see him again.  
  
Hopping on one foot as he pulled his socks on, Allen went towards the night table and started rustling around, looking for a pen. He found one, one actually emblazoned with Allen's college insignia (maybe Link was an alumni?) and a pack of posted notes. Hurriedly, he scrawled out his name and number and tacked it to the screen of Link's cell phone.  
  
That would have to do, Allen thought, and he slipped out quietly, hunting down his shoes as he went.  
  
As much as he wanted to stay, he was pretty sure the teacher of Introduction to Christian Theology wouldn't accept _'I was busy having wild, anonymous morning sex'_ as a valid excuse for tardiness.

 

* * *

 

 

Link's hair was still wet when he strapped himself into his car. He'd barely had ten minutes to shower before he had to hop out, dressing himself hurriedly and throwing his things into his valise.  
  
No time for breakfast. He'd had to settle instead for two Advil and a glass of water before grabbing his phone and running out the door.  
  
Shutting the car door behind him, he checked his phone for the time. 8:10 AM. He could make it. He would make it. There was no way he'd be late to his first class of the semester.  
  
He only allowed himself to start thinking of Allen once he hit the highway.  
  
Last night. Allen. God. Link could feel himself burning up at the memory. Feelings, sights, tastes. The sound of Allen's laugh. The filthy sound he'd made when Link had—  
  
Link gritted his teeth, gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles went white. It was unlike him to be so terribly, horrifyingly shameless. God. He'd been drunk, he reminded himself sternly. Drunk. Stupid. Ridiculous and unprofessional, conduct totally unworthy of him.  
  
All the same, Allen's number was burning a hole into his inner jacket pocket. Foolishly, Link felt possessed by the sudden desire to pull his car over and punch his contact information into his cell immediately, as if the note would disappear into the night just as Allen had if left unattended too long.  
  
Allen Walker, Link thought. He turned the name in his head over, like a prayer, as he merged into the next lane. Allen Walker.  
  
Stupid, ridiculous, utterly mortifying. God, he would never hear the end of it from Tokusa.  
  
Then he thought of Allen's bright eyes, Allen's laugh. Allen's number.  
  
Get through your first class, Link told himself. He was pulling up into the college parking lot, past the football field and bus terminal. Then think about it.  
He opened the car door, grabbing the handle of his valise, and made his way towards the Humanities building, straightening his tie and braid as he went.  
  
The sound of his footsteps moving rhythmically against the hallway floor was strangely soothing.  
  
He was in his element here. He was under _control_.  
  
Just get through this first lecture, Link thought, arriving at the door to his classroom. He checked his watch. There wasn't a minute left until 8:30. He'd made it. Feeling his regular calm return to him, he opened the door and made his way to the front of the classroom.  
  
"Alright," he said, and he was pleased to find his tone flawlessly crisp and professional. "Welcome to Introduction to Christian Theology, so if you aren't in the right class..."  
  
He froze, speech faltering completely. Nearly dropped his valise.  
  
From the front row, Allen Walker stared up at Link, his jaw totally slack. Distantly, Link registered the sound of a pen clattering dramatically to the floor.  
  
Their gazes locked.   
  
It held.  
  
For an unheard-of second time in 24-hours, Link said, _"Fuck."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hurryupfic @ tumblr  
> @fuckhowardlink on twitter  
>    
> [ here's a view of the campus of the west island of montreal's john abbott college. visual references!](http://www.macleans.ca/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/John-Abbott-College-Profile-Macleans.jpg)


	2. Chapter 2

Fuck.  
  
Somehow, a course outline found its way on to Allen's desk, and he stared down at it, taking it none of the words and yet totally unwilling to risk eye contact. Fuck.  
  
Miraculously, Link seemed to recover fairly quickly, patching over his initial shock by launching desperately into some opening preamble about the course that Allen couldn't have possibly paid attention to in a thousand years.  
  
In a sudden burst of nervous energy, he made a hasty grab for his schedule and flipped it over to scan over the Monday column. _Introduction to Christian Theology_ with Howard Link. Howard. Howard fucking _Link_. Shit, shit, shit. Allen's mind flashed desperately through the events of last night. He hadn't introduced himself as Howard Link, had he? If he had, maybe some warning bell would have gone of in Allen's head, some sign. Something. Anything.  
  
Besides, with a course as dry as theology, Allen had expected his professor to be some old relic, and not. _Well_. Allen lifted his eyes guiltily. Back to the class, Link was chalking out something about textbooks onto the ancient blackboard, all the while going on in an impressively level tone about... something or other. The college's plagiarism policy, maybe. Whatever.  
  
Instead, he found himself fixated on Link's shirt sleeves, which had been rolled up to the elbow; exposing his forearms. He wasn't sure what it was about that otherwise mundane detail that struck him as sexy. Maybe it had something to do with the memory of those arms wrapped around his waist, supporting his hips, bracketing him between the wall and Link's mouth, and Jesus fucking _Christ_. Allen resisted the urge to actually punch himself in the face. He'd fucked his _professor_.  
  
_Nice going, dumbass._  
  
Somehow, Allen's inner voice of judgement sounded a lot like Kanda.  
  
The chalk halted, and Link turned back around to face his students. Allen's eyes returned to his syllabus. Putting on what he prayed was an unaffected expression, he feigned interest in the content, all the while desperately trying to organize his thoughts into something resembling cohesion.  
  
_Alright. Let's review. You went out, got piss drunk, and had wild rebound sex. Wild rebound sex... with your Christian theology professor._ Allen twirled his pen between his thumb and forefinger. _Intense, filthy gay sex with a theology professor. There's got to be some irony there, right? Right. In fact, this entire situation is hilarious if I overlook the fact it's actually happening to me._  
  
That actually managed to be a somewhat reassuring thought. Allen bit his lip, considering it. The whole thing was just one big funny mistake. Hysterical. Link and Allen, they'd be able to share an awkward laugh over it then move right on. Then they could never, ever mention it again. _Perfect_.  
  
Encouraged, Allen lifted his eyes, making an attempt to zone it on whatever it was Link was actually saying. Something about the rich culture and tradition surrounding Bible studies.  
  
Huh. It seemed that Allen had been incorrect in his presumption that Link had made a complete recovery from the initial shock. In fact, he looked every inch as mortified as Allen felt. In his own desperate bid to avoid eye contact, Link seemed to be delivering his lecture directly to the ceiling fan. He seemed a little flushed, too. That was cute. Link was the type to get flustered, wasn't he?  
  
He'd certainly seemed flustered the first time Allen had approached him. Sort of reserved, really. Well, if sober Allen was at all charming, then drunk Allen was a menace. Once Link could be coaxed into conversation, he became absorbed into it. He would launch into ardent tangents, often pairing statements with passionate gesticulation, and he was smart and had opinions, which was absolutely novel because Kanda _never_ had opinions on anything at all, and he was confident without being an asshole, which was the most un-Kandalike thing in fucking _existence_. By the time they'd stopped talking, resolving to put their lips to more constructive work, there was nothing left but confidence.  
  
Allen's eyes wandered. The curve of Link's lips was lush and somewhat inviting, maybe even a little swollen, which sent a shiver of satisfaction down Allen's spine. He touched his neck, momentary distracted by the phantom sensation of that mouth trading bites and kisses—  
  
Realizing thoughts had taken a turn for the less Biblical, Allen nearly smacked his face against the desk.  
  
Yeah, no. It was over. His life was over. He had to drop the class. Drop out of school, too, for good measure. He'd leave the country, change his name, and die in a ditch somewhere where no one could witness his shame.  
  
_Just kill me now,_ Allen thought, gripping his pen so tightly his knuckles went white. Then, because it made him feel better, _This is all Kanda's fault._

Link's voice cut through his thoughts.  
  
"I think that's enough for today," he said, maybe to his students, maybe just to the ceiling fan. "You're all dismissed."  
  
"It's barely been a half hour," someone pointed out. Allen glanced back at her, surprised. He'd temporarily forgotten that this was an actual class and not just Allen Walker's Personal Hell Chamber.  
  
"Today was just an introduction," Link said firmly. Reluctantly, he lowered his eyes to address the class. "I'll give you until next Wednesday to pick up the required textbooks, but I recommend you purchase at least the study guide before next class. With that said, you can leave."  
  
Leaving sounded like a great idea to Allen. The best he'd heard all day. He slammed the syllabus in between the pages of his notebook, shoving the whole mess into his bag unceremoniously as he jumped to his feet.  
  
For the first time in 28 agonizing minutes, Allen and Link's eyes met. The beat of silence between them, amplified by the sounds of students shuffling out with their bags, could have only lasted about four seconds. It felt like a lifetime.  
  
Then Link coughed awkwardly.  
  
"If could, _ah_ , maybe stay behind one minute..."  
  
Allen considered it briefly. Stay behind and talk it out? Like _adults?_ Fuck _that_. Kicking problems under the rug and avoiding them forever was what Allen's whole thing.  
  
"I need to go," he blurted, like the big fucking liar he was. He hefted his bag, whirled around, and fled the classroom— the undeniable proof of his guilt

* * *

 

 

To his eternal credit, Link managed to wait until the last student had filed out of his classroom before freaking the fuck out.  
  
He paced the length of the room, pinching the bridge of his nose. Allen was his student, his honest-to-God _student_. There was no way around it; he was going to be fired, fired from the job he absolutely loved. He'd never get his doctorate or his book deal, never hold any kind of teaching position ever again, let alone become dean of the department—  
  
Frozen in anxious terror, Link's eyes shot to the door, waiting for the moment Lvellie would burst in at any second to personally hand him his ass.  
  
Keep it together, he reminded himself. He leaned back against his desk, edge biting into his back. Keep it together. Don't panic, don't castastrophize. Pointless hysterics will not get you anywhere, especially not while the situation is still salvageable.  
  
Salvageable? Who was he kidding? He'd slept with his student. He could lose his job over this, and yet, he couldn't hardly even bring himself to regret it—  
  
Link's mid-life crisis was cut short by the sound of marimbas.  
  
Startled by the sound, he jerked upright, following the noise to his valise. The lower pouch vibrated gently, pulsating with a friendly green light. Link reached for it unthinkingly, flipping it over to see the caller ID. Tokusa's face filled the screen. Link watched and did nothing, letting himself miss the call.  
  
He was allowed a reprieve of approximately three seconds before Tokusa started calling again. Because _Tokusa_.  
  
Link swiped green, raising his phone to his ear.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Gooood morning, sunshine!" Link cringed away from the overpowering volume of Tokusa's enthusiasm. "Just calling to wish you a big congratulations."  
  
_"What?"_  
  
"You know, on scoring. Honestly, I had no idea you'd actually take my suggestion to cut loose to such extremes. It's touching, really."  
  
"Touching?" Link repeated. It was extremely difficult to focus on what Tokusa was saying, especially when he was so busy trying to estimate the driving distance between himself and the nearest active volcano he could throw himself into.  
  
"Yeah, real touching. I feel like a proud mama, watching my baby bird finally leave the nest," Tokusa snorted. Link could hear his shit-eating grin from over the phone. The whole atmosphere of the conversation felt almost unbearably surreal. "Hey, you with me?"  
  
"With you?" Link snapped back to the conversation, realizing he was starting to sound like a bad echo. There was the sound of china clinking together on Tokusa's end, like maybe he was still at home and fixing himself something to drink in the kitchen.  
  
"You sound out of it. Did it go well?"  
  
Go well? That was a somewhat relative question, wasn't it? Link dragged one hand down his face, shoulders tense.  
  
"Short answer, yes. Long answer, no."  
  
There was a moment of thoughtful silence on Tokusa's end.  
  
"... Was he like, _really_ into feet or something?"  
  
_"No!"_ Link shouted, louder than intended. He stopped himself short, casting an anxious glance around the empty classroom before going on in a tone that was somewhere close to hysteria. "Everything was... fantastic, more or less, up until the moment I ran into him again during first period."  
  
"He stole your job?"  
  
"Tokusa, he's my _student!_ "  
  
" _Ah_." Another silence, this time punctuated by what sounded very much like a slow sip of coffee. "You know, I can see how that might be awkward."  
  
"You don't say," Link said, gritting his teeth around the words.  
  
"Oh, don't give me lip, Howie. I'm here to help you," Tokusa sniffed. He really did have an amazingly expressive voice. Expressive enough that Link could picture the exact condescending eyeroll Tokusa would've matched with his words in a face-to-face conversation. "Did you the two of you talk it out, at least?"  
  
"No, unfortunately. The moment class was over, he bolted. Frankly, I don't blame him," Link sighed, dropping into the nearest chair and settling into a defeated slump. "This is a mess."  
  
A snort.  
  
"A very entertaining mess, from where I'm seated."  
  
Right then, Link could have _strangled_ him.  
  
"Entertaining? This is the worst day of my professional life. Without tenure protecting me, my position here is hardly secure as it is. I can't afford to make mistakes like this! I could take heat if anyone even knew I had his phone number—"  
  
"He left you his number? _Nice_."  
  
"My student, Tokusa, my _student_."  
  
"Oh. Right, right," Tokusa hummed, sounding almost offensively nonplussed. "Ah, well. People make mistakes. It's not like the two of you knew, right? You should be able to clear this up. Text him to meet you in your office or something."  
  
Just _text_ him? Link thought about the slip of paper still buried in his coat, and felt absolutely scandalized. He shouldn't use it, he should _burn_ it.  
  
"Given my position in regards to him, it would hardly be appropriate..."  
  
"You two have already fucked. You're way past appropriate."  
  
Link could feel his face flooding with color. "Don't be _childish_."  
  
Tokusa, the little shit that he was, just chuckled.  
  
"Listen, you really want to have this conversation via Student Services e-mail?"  
  
_Oh, God._  
  
"I'm going to text him," Link said, resolute.  
  
"There we go."

 

* * *

 

 

"Well," Lena said, tone remarkably level. Allen liked that about her, really, the way she could approach just about anything with poise and maturity. "I don't _exactly_ recommend dying in a ditch, but I do agree you should drop the class."  
  
Lavi just shook his head, guffawing quietly. Allen glared at him from over the rim of his coffee cup. Lenalee and Lavi had purposefully chosen a table at the far end of the campus cafe, perhaps trying to respect Allen's privacy as they grilled him for explicit details on last night— and then, armed with further information, details on the coming morning.  
  
"I need to pass a Knowledge course if I want to graduate on time," Allen said dully.  
  
"Just blackmail him into giving you a perfect grade," Lavi suggested. "You've got the fodder, don't you?"  
  
Lenalee kicked Lavi from underneath the table.  
  
"Just wait until this weekend, then," Lenalee continued kindly, completely disregarding Lavi, which was generally the wise thing to do. "You can switch or add courses on Saturday, right? maybe you can switch into another Knowledge course. If you're lucky, maybe you can take Self-Reflection Through Yoga with me."  
  
"No one wants to take Self-Reflection Through Yoga but you, Lena."  
  
Lenalee kicked Lavi again, harder this time.  
  
"That's probably a good idea," Allen said. The part about switching into another class, he meant, not the part about taking yoga. Not that he was about to mention that out loud. Lenalee's kicks were brutally efficient. "I mean, can you even imagine how _awkward_ it'd be if I kept taking the class?"  
  
"So awkward."  
  
"Painfully awkward."  
  
" _Nightmarishly_ awkward."  
  
A beat.  
  
"So," Lavi said. "How big is his dick?"  
  
The force of Lenalee's next kick shook their entire table. Allen's coffee cup jittered across the surface, and he reached out hastily to protect it from spilling.  
  
Allen opened his mouth, torn between scolding Lav and delivering an honest answer— but then, his phone buzzed against his thigh, saving him from the indignity of the whole conversation. He excused himself briefly and reached into his pocket.  
  
Then, something gave him pause. He stopped short, the edges of his fingers just barely curling around the slim frame of his phone case. The only two people who texted him with any regularity were Lenalee and Lavi, and they were literally with him.  
  
_Maybe it's Kanda._  
  
This from a voice at the back of his mind, as sweet and as deadly as silk.  
  
Allen's stomach went tight, thrown into knots by some desperate emotion— hope or fear or some fraught thing in between. Who could say? All the same, the thought filled him with a potent hysteria; for a moment, he was dangerously close to standing up and throwing his phone out the nearest window. A ridiculous impulse. He bit it back. Settled for calmly thumbing his lock screen open and tapping the notification.  
  
It wasn't from Kanda. It wasn't from any number he recognized at all, actually. Allen settled into his seat and frowned, focusing on the message. He made it about two lines in before freezing up.  
  
It was from Link.  
  
_Oh._  
  
**[514-824-4129], Mon 11:45 AM:** I'd like to apologize for my awkwardness this morning. Seeing you came as something of a shock. I'm sure you understand why. Regardless, I'd rather not discuss this via text. If you're willing, I'd like to clear this all up face-to-face before this Wednesday's class. My office number is HA-103. I should be in there any time after 2:00 PM. - Link  
  
_Something of a shock, huh._ Allen bit his lip. _Yeah. Yeah, we're crystal clear on that.  
_  
Slowly, the tension began to seep out of his shoulders. Allen's eyes tracked over the message for a second time, initial embarrassment fading into something like clarity. The wording of Link's text, while terribly formal, somehow managed to be a little reassuring. It was cordial. Polite. A little stiff, even. For just a moment, Allen could almost pretend that this was just the regular correspondence between a teacher and his student. He could pretend that Link hadn't made Allen smile or laugh. Pretend that the way Link kissed hadn't knotted his stomach up in a way that was as lovely as it was confusing.  
  
Like this, wrapped up in procedure, Allen could almost forget the way Link had fucked him, fucked him until he saw goddamn _stars_.  
  
_Think Biblical thoughts, Allen! Think! Biblical! Thoughts!_  
  
Allen's fingertips ghosted over the keyboard. He'd damaged the situation by panicking earlier; this was the perfect opportunity to remedy that.  
  
"I talked myself into this mess," Allen said, more to himself than anyone else. "I can talk myself out of it."  
  
Lavi's _bright_ eye landed square on Allen's face. He grinned a lunatic's grin, the teeth-baring glint of a man awaiting disaster with breathless anticipation.  
  
"Now there's the spirit."  
  
Lenalee said nothing. Just put her face into her hands and _sighed_.

 

* * *

 

  
It would not be inaccurate to say that Link's office was cramped. It would not be inaccurate, in fact, to say that it was _very_ cramped, or _cramped as all fucking Hell_.

You could cross the entire space in approximately three paces, and that was only provided you removed all the furniture first. As it was, with Link's desk, two chairs, and one meticulously organized filing cabinet crowding the space, there was barely enough room for two— and some shimmying was definitely necessary to reach one fixture or another.  
  
There was a window, too, which Link was eternally grateful for. Windows were much fought-over resources, not at all a guarantee when it came to the stuffy and overheated office annex.  
  
It was a narrow strip of a thing, maybe a food and a half wide, offering Link the nondescript view of a sports field buried in snow. The snow looked perfect, still December-crisp despite the fact it would soon be February. If Link snapped a picture, he could've sold the whole image as one of those holiday postcards you'd buy at some Old Port concertina. It wasn't so much the view he was grateful for, however, but the light. It made it easier for him to work.  
  
Not like he could get much work done at the moment. He drummed his fingers against the desk. Re-organized his binders, first alphabetically, and then by the color of their spine. The first draft of an assignment outline blinked suggestively on the screen of his laptop, but he couldn't bring himself to revise it— there was no telling what kind of ridiculous error he might make while his focus was still so fried.  
  
At that first tentative knock at the door, Link mentally braced himself.  
  
"It's open," he called out. He was pleased to find he sounded far steadier than he felt.  
  
The door swung open about halfway. Allen took one step over the threshold. Silhouetted against the afternoon light, his features were thrown into fantastic relief. Link forced himself not to look away.  
  
"Hello," Allen said.  
  
"Good afternoon."  
  
There was an awkward silence.  
  
"So. Christian theology?" Allen said, suddenly. "Seriously?"  
  
"It's interesting," Link bit back, retaliating without thinking. Defending his choice of field had become something of a reflex. Everyone loved to beat up on the Humanities. "You signed up for the class, didn't you?"  
  
"It fit my schedule, that's all," Allen shrugged. "I'm not very religious."  
  
Link wrinkled his nose, displeased.  
  
"Well, consider it an intellectual exercise, then," he said. "You don't have to be religious to find the subject engaging."  
  
Allen swung the door open a little further and stepped inside. He paused for a moment before sitting down in front of Link's desk, though. Was he hesitant to come close to Link? Dreading the idea of making this chat any longer than necessary? Or was he simply coming to terms with the fact that there was, quite simply, not enough standing room available?  
  
"But you are?"  
  
Link frowned.

  
"I do consider myself a Christian, if that's what you're asking," he answered slowly. Then, to Allen's raised eyebrow, "Perhaps not as resolute a Christian as I could be, admittedly."  
  
A slow smile spread across Allen's face. Link would've called it bashful had it not been so terribly self-satisfied.  
  
"I feel like I've seen evidence of that."  
  
"To my unending _embarrassment_ ," Link said. There was a pause, then; the topic of last night suddenly felt impossible to avoid. Funny, really, how they called it the elephant in the room. It felt more like a tiger; something callous and fanged and fantastically eager to tear Link's head off.  
  
Link took a breath, ready to lapse into some terribly fraught apology. Allen, however, was quicker. As if he could read Link's mind, he smiled dismissively, waving the shivering ghost of Link's thoughts away with the flick of his wrist.  
  
"I don't think you have anything to be embarrassed about."  
  
"Oh," Link scratched the back of his neck, self-conscious. It took him a moment to recompose himself, to remember his intentions. "Listen, Allen. I just want for us to be on the same page."  
  
"Right." Allen shifted in his chair, barely perceptibly; but Link was perceptive. He straightened his spine, narrowed his stance. "I want that too."  
  
Link folded his hands one over the other, moving match Allen.  
  
"If I'd known, I wouldn't have..." Link trailed off, suddenly too flustered to verbally acknowledge what which had happened between the two of them. He coughed, and made a desperate attempt to switch tracks. "That is, things being as they are..."  
  
Allen nodded adamantly, but his lips twitched, betraying his amusement. Link let out a sound of exasperation, feeling himself capitulate under the strain of Allen's bright eyes.  
  
"Don't give me that look," he continued weakly. "I'm trying to be the adult here."  
  
"We're both adults," Allen pointed out.  
  
Link covered his face with one hand.  
  
"And yet, this is my office."  
  
"It's a very nice office," Allen offered. He paused before continuing, voice taking on a more sober tone. "You don't need to worry, you know. I understand. It was all a misunderstanding."  
  
"Yes, certainly." Suddenly feeling uncharacteristically restless, Link turned his eyes away. He distracted himself, for the moment, by arranging the pens at his desk into a perfect row.  
  
A misunderstanding. A lovely misunderstanding, at that, he thought, but nothing more. Allen was pleasant to speak with, and had been just as pleasant to kiss; and yet, pleasure was the thing that aimed only at itself, it was it's own end. Perhaps it took a theologian to come to such a bitter realization. The Christian doctrine was one of self-denial, and Allen was an indulgence. A distraction— a danger, even, to his career.  
  
And yet, the closed loop between them would be heady, intoxicating, and thoroughly exhausting; perfumed with the scent of salty skin and spiced liquor, panting upwards towards one end and spiraling down, down onto the linen towards another.  
  
"I wish we'd woken up a little earlier," he mused. He stared at his own meticulous arrangement, then scooped it up; destroyed it. "I'd have cooked you breakfast."  
  
It took him a moment to realize he'd actually said it out loud. He jerked up right, watching in silence as Allen blinked, seeming to deliberate on his response. Then, he smiled. It was perhaps the most damning response he could have delivered, the quirk of it half-warm and half-mischievous. The kind of smile Link was coming to associate with him.  
  
"Is that _all_ you would have done?" Allen asked, tone undeniably flirtatious, and oh _God_ that had not been Link's intention. He flushed, mortified.  
  
"I shouldn't have mentioned it at all. It was inappropriate."  
  
Allen's smile faded. Somehow, that was even worse.  
  
"It's fine," Allen said. Then, very softly, "Breakfast would've been nice."  
  
Link cast his eyes away.  
  
Sound of a clock ticking. Footsteps retreating to the far and of the hallway. The low rumble of a car starting up.  
  
"It would have been."  
  
"What would you have made? Bacon and eggs?"  
  
Link shook his head, mildly offended by the suggestion.  
  
"Crepes and English cream. Maybe with a raspberry reduction."  
  
"That sounds great," Allen said, a faraway look in his eyes. His next words took on a tone of dreamy whimsy as he allowed himself to imagine this beautiful, impossible hypothetical. "Could we have eaten in bed?"  
  
_In bed? Absolutely not, you'd dirty my sheets,_ Link thought of saying, but that sounded incredibly ironic even to him. He gave it a second thought, and somewhere along the way, he found the shining image of Allen lying warm against his sheets, sprawled out like a cat, licking the last of the raspberries from his fingers. His pink lips would be that much pinker, drenched in such sweetness.  
  
"I suppose... we could've. If that's what you wanted."  
  
"Huh."  
  
Allen's eyes slid down, into his lap. Link thought he might be fighting with himself— it was something you might not have noticed just looking at his face, but Link managed to catch a glimpse of his fists, tightening and relaxing and then tightening back up all over again.  
  
"I should tell you," Allen continued in a measured tone, "I'll most likely be leaving your class."  
  
"Oh," Link said. He wasn't really sure how he felt about that. But then again, it hardly mattered, did it? He put on a professional expression, nodding slowly at Allen as he laced his fingers together over the desk between them. "I suppose I expected as much."  
  
"I need to wait until Saturday, though," Allen went on, suddenly speaking very quickly, as if Link might cut him off at any second. "I need to take a Knowledge course so I can graduate on time this spring. Rather than outright dropping the class, I need to switch into one worth an equivalent credit."  
  
"I understand."  
  
Allen gave Link a meaningful look, the kind that had him doubting if he really knew anything at all.  
  
"What I'm saying," Allen said, slower this time, "is that in about week or so, you won't be my professor anymore."  
  
That's when it all clicked into place.  
  
" _Oh_."

"Oh," Allen agreed.

* * *

 

 

Allen showed up to Link's class on Wednesday with a cheery, almost childlike bounce in his step.  
  
He didn't necessarily have to show up, of course, not when he'd be officially off Link's class list in less than a week. Still, somehow, it was that very fact that made the experience all the more worthwhile.  
  
Link's lecture itself, Allen decided, wasn't exactly to his interest. Religion had never resonated with him, and he didn't expect that to change anytime soon. He tried to picture it the way he pictured music— as a multifaceted discipline, something with philosophy and history and geography— but he was missing the driving ethos behind it, the spark of understanding. Mana had never believed, and Cross paid little more than lip service to Christian dogma. Allen's own drives were modeled after theirs. Less spiritual, more tangible.  
  
More engaging a subject than the content of the class was Link himself.  
  
He hadn't exactly planned to continue pursuing... whatever exactly this was, this thing going on between them. But, the more he thought about it, the more he thought, well, why shouldn't I? By the time the weekend rolled past, they'd no longer be teacher and student. Just two consenting adults, free to do whatever. Free to figure out what they wanted.  
  
Link seemed to make insinuations of taking Allen out on a proper date, and Allen pretty much felt amenable to that. It'd be... good, in a way, to date again.  
  
For now, though? Well, Allen decided he might as well milk the current situation for all it was worth.  
  
Allen glossed over what was actually being taught in favor of provoking as many reactions from him as possible. He spent the bulk of the 90-minute period staring at Link, sometimes suggestively sucking on the end of his pen, sometimes throwing a knowing smile here and there. _Introduction to Christian Theology_ suddenly felt a lot more bearable when he thought of it as _Introduction to Foreplay With Your Cute Professor._  
  
And by the looks of it, he was on his way to a perfect grade.  
  
For someone so polished, Link was pretty reactive. Allen parted his lips, looking up at Link through his lashes, and Link blushed, stammered, and trailed off, picking up where he'd left off only once he seemed to remember that he and Allen were not, in fact, the only two people in the room.  
  
_Definitely_ a step up from Monday.  
  
He ended up hanging around after class, making aimless, pleasant conversation with Link as he cleaned the board and packed his binder away. It was refreshing, really, to be able to talk with Monday's anxieties resolved.  
  
"You're an absolute devil, you know," Link said, in reference to Allen's classroom antics. He sounded so genuinely stricken that Allen couldn't help but laugh.  
  
"Is that your _professional_ opinion?"  
  
"As a theologian? Certainly," Link deadpanned, snapping his binder shut. "I believe you'll be missing that section of the course, the logic of demonic temptation."  
  
"What a shame."  
  
"Without a doubt."  
  
Allen ended up inviting Link to lunch, an invitation he seemed hesitant to accept until Allen clarified that it was a friendly invitation, extended from a student to his professor. They had to restrain their attraction for four more days, but there was no rule preventing them from talking to one another.  
  
They ended up at the campus cafe together, where Link defended his field helplessly against the onslaught of Allen's skepticism.  
  
"Biblical literacy is _necessary_  in understanding the spiritual consciousness of Western history," Link insisted, punctuating each phrase with a fervent stab into his cake. It was sort of funny, Allen thought, that he was actually such a fan of sweets. He came off as such a kale salad and black coffee sort of guy. "Belief defines culture."  
  
"I don't believe that," Allen said, firm. He stole a maraschino cherry from off of Link's plate. Link made a face that was somewhat akin to a pout. _It doesn't define me._  
  
"Perhaps if you paid a _modicum_ of attention during class—"  
  
Allen held his hands up, a placating gesture.  
  
"It's not that I can't understand theology, it just... doesn't connect with me," he protested. Then, he grinned. "Not to mention, I have an extremely distracting professor."  
  
Link's ears went slightly pink.  
  
"I'm sure he's only doing his best to provide an education, under the circumstances."  
  
"Circumstances?"  
  
"I'm sure he's found himself," Link continued, low, "somewhat distracted himself."

"Oh, really?"

"That... would be my guess."

"Any insight into what could be provoking such a state of distraction?"

Link shifted in his seat, pursing his lips.

"It's only human, I should think, to be distracted by beautiful things"

Something fluttered at the base of Allen's stomach, inexplicably warm and soft. It was tempting, too tempting to lean over the table and kiss Link, right in front of everyone.  
  
_Just wait until Saturday,_ Allen thought. _Just wait until Saturday. Then you can do whatever you want._

 

* * *

 

 

"Dating your student, huh. What's _that_ like?"  
  
"I am _not_ dating my student. That would be inappropriate."  
  
"Well, you two have been doing lunch for the past few days, haven't you? That sounds somewhat date-like."  
  
"They're not dates. They're... simply conversations."

"I don't find your denial particularly convincing, given the fact you've already slept with him."

A sigh.

"You used to be such a nice girl, Tewaku."  
  
"I _am_ a nice girl." Pause. "Alright. You're not dating him. But that doesn't mean you don't _plan_ to, right? It's already Friday, after all."

Telling silence. She continued, victorious. 

"Hey, I hope it works out. You've always been so married to you job, you know? It'd be nice to see you get out there. Do something for yourself."

"I think it will," Link said. The gentleness with which he spoke seemed to surprise the both of them, and there was a beat of surprised silence. "Work out, that is."

Crackle of static. The sweet shuffle of her breath against the receiver.

"Then I'm glad."  
  
Tightness in his chest. The bright beginning of something like a laugh.

"Me too."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [link voice] I'M HERE TO KICK ASS AND TEACH THE HUMANITIES, AND THEY JUST DEFUNDED THE HUMANITIES DEPARTMENT
> 
> this is my trashiest, most brainless fic but it gives me such joy to write
> 
> hurryupfic @ tumblr  
> fuckhowardlink @ twitter


	3. Chapter 3

 

“Hands to yourself, Walker,” Link said, extricating himself gently from Allen's hand on his thigh. His tone, while stern, had a somewhat pleasant timber to it. More than anything, he seemed amused. Pleased to chastise Allen. “I believe we discussed this.”

Allen withdrew with a pout, scooting back sullenly onto the couch.

“Tease,” Allen said. He tucked his legs underneath himself, reaching forwards to the coffee table for the sweet-smelling glass of wine he'd left half-empty. He took a slow, indulgent sip before continuing. “You invite me over, you pour wine into me, and you rebuff my advances? You're heartless. A. Heartless. _Tease_.”

Link laughed quietly. Allen liked this laugh. It gave him the feeling Link knew something he didn't; a laugh full of secrets. It was a brightly-covered candy for Allen to unravel and consume.

“Surely you can go a single night without sex,” Link said, folding his hands over his lap and quirking a dark brow.

“I most certainly can,” Allen agreed, mimicking Link's posture. “I just won't be very _pleased_ about it.”

“Is there anything I can do to ease your suffering?”

“Well,” Allen stalled, looking down into his lap. “You could pour me another glass of wine.”

He clapped both hands over his knees and stood at length, gently scooping Allen's wine glass from his hands as he went. Allen followed his back with both eyes as Link retreated into the kitchen, watching intently as Link, still visible through an open frame, withdrew the dark, shiny bottle of Sangiovese from a bucket of ice. There was something inexplicably exciting in the image.

Every so often, watching Link, Allen had the vague feeling of glimpsing into another world. The world of adults, maybe, a world that Allen supposed he would someday belong to. The world of tie pins and silk and doing your morning crossword with a carefully-selected brew of pressed coffee. A world where good wine was drunk, too. That in itself provided its own superficial thrill. He'd never dated a man who liked wine before. Kanda was only ever interested in tequila, sour and fire-strong.

It probably wasn't fair, for Allen to be constantly comparing Link to Kanda, but he could hardly help it. The contrast was just stark enough to be a little hilarious.

“I don't suppose you're trying to get drunk?” Link said, returning into the living room carrying both Allen's glass and the bottle itself. He looked nice, Allen thought vaguely. He wasn't wearing that dark, much-beloved tweed coat tonight, but instead a relaxed navy blazer over a shirt whose collar was now partially undone. If the warm flush creeping up Link's neck and cheeks were any sign, the blazer itself would soon be shed as well. This could only be a development to celebrate.

“Not tonight,” he said slowly. Link navigated his way back to the couch, sitting back down besides Allen and setting down the wine down on the table. “I'm a pretty messy drunk.”

“Not so messy,” Link demurred, looking somewhat embarrassed. Allen smiled all the wider, eyes narrowing into something coy and catlike as he reached over to reclaim his wine.

“Messy enough to tumble into bed with my hot theology professor.”

There was a beat. Link took a quick sip of his wine, as if to avoid speaking. It was cute, really.

“I wasn't your professor then,” he finally answered, breath fogging the rim of his glass. Allen put a hand over his mouth and laughed into it.

“Well, you're my professor now.”

“And I'm your friend,” Link returned, steady now, despite the pink in his cheeks. Allen hummed.

“My _friend_ , are you?”

“Until tomorrow evening, at the very least.”

“And then?”

Link set his glass back down, eyes focused solely on Allen now. Assessing him, perhaps, his sharp brown eyes trained to a pinprick of attention. This, Allen reminded himself, was the precision of an intelligent man. Had Kanda been an intelligent man? _Fuck no_ was Allen's immediate response. But that wasn't completely accurate, wasn't it? Sure, Kanda wasn't intelligent in the same way as Link, who wrote dissertations on the influence of Greco-Roman paganism on the development of Christian theology. But Kanda had his own sort of knack for understanding. For _knowing_ ,.

Especially when it came to Allen.

(A sad thought.)

“What would you like me to be?” Link asked. He reached forwards, grazing Allen's shoulder with the reverent, cool fingers of his hands, the touch dispelling all thoughts of Kanda. Link really did have lovely hands. Long and delicate as a pianists, but still distinctly masculine, knuckles broad and a little rough. It was hard to believe his were the hands of a scholar.

But then again, Link had always seemed to be a little more than a scholar. His body, for one, was not the body of a man trapped at his desk.

(And fuck, Allen had _loved_ being pinned beneath it.)

“Well,” Allen stalled, twisting his fingers over his lap. “If you asked me to dinner tomorrow, after de-registration... I wouldn't turn you down.”

“That... might be nice,” Link said. There was something in his voice that made Allen's stomach drop. Something hesitant. Lackluster. He looked up, heart twisting in his chest like a dull knife as Link pulled his hand away from Allen. “If that's what you want, of course.”

Allen stared back down at his hands, slim and pale, pinkish nails bitten down close.

“But not what you want,” he interpreted, turning his wrists over to feign interest in the blue vein snaking down through the carpals, like the delta of some great river.

“What?” Link said. Although he didn't see it, Allen could feel Link's body shifting over the couch. Maybe nearer, maybe further. “Oh. It's not that.”

Not a particularly convincing response. Suddenly, Link's apartment seemed an overwhelmingly cold place. He felt embarrassingly close to shivers. He tried for a smile, even though he was certain he could hardly be a pretty one.

“If I'm misreading the situation, or — if you'd prefer something _casual_ _—_ ”

“Allen,” Link cut in, firm. _Commanding_. Allen's head jerked back up. Instantaneously. Involuntarily. The look of earnest focus in Link's eyes had returned tenfold, had returned hundredfold; magnified to the point of fixation, they seemed to burn into him. Allen's skin prickled with heat. “It's _really_ not that.” Link bit out a heavy sigh, reaching out to cover Allen's hand with his own. “I'd love to go on a date with you. I'm just trying to be... sensible.”

“Because you're my professor,” Allen interpreted softly.

Link hesitated, then shook his head. There was a knit in his brow; he had the look of a man at war with himself. Allen watched the muscles work in Link's cheek, jaw clenching and then unclenching as he struggled against his own professionalism.

“Even if I wasn't,” he said, “and even _when_ I'm not, I'll still have these reservations. You're... you're what, twenty-one?”

Allen's eyes fell to the floor.

“I'm twenty.”

“You're twenty,” Link repeated, sounding somewhat aghast, “and I'm nearly _thirty_.”

“Is... that a problem?”

“Yes and no,” Link said. He ran his thumb over Allen's knuckles gently. Placatingly, perhaps.

“You think I'm immature,” Allen countered tensely.

“I don't,” Link said. He shifted a little closer, so close now that Allen could feel the warmth of Link's shoulder against his, his hard thigh against Allen's. Legs spread; an unconscious (or possibly willful) display of dominance. Authority. “I think you're young. I think you're in a position to be influenced. Pressured, maybe.”

“I'm twenty, not _fifteen_ ,” Allen said. It came out harsh, angry; wounded vituperation that would do him no good, not now. But he couldn't help himself; his anger was the only thing keeping him from falling into Link, against Link. This close, he could smell Link's cologne; deep and pleasant with an ambery, oakmoss muskiness. The scent of it was enough to kindle a small fire low in his stomach. “I'm an adult, Link. Don't try to convince me I'm incapable of knowing what I want.”

“I understand that,” Link said.

Perfect, beautiful Link, his neat, clean nails, honey-blonde braid tumbling down over his shoulder, so sharp and so heady even when he could do nothing but treat Allen like a child. Like _his_  fucking child. Allen had gone this long without a father; he wasn't looking for one now.

“If you understand, then... stop trying to convince me I'm incapable of knowing what I want,” Allen went on, and Link leaned closer, hand gliding up Allen's arm to cup his neck, and fuck, fuck, Allen just wanted to consume him. The scent of him was so dizzying and gladdening that he wanted to start drinking from his neck like a crazed vampire, to swallow him down, to _taste_ him and to _pay_ for it. “I _know,_ Link. Alright?”

This man, so archly cool with his dark suits and brown eyes; gentle and sadistic and polished to a shine with mannequinned artifice.

“I don't want to take advantage of you,” Link said, thumb caressing the back of Allen's neck with a gentleness that somehow managed to feel predatory. “That's all.”

_Liar._

Allen tucked his feet beneath his legs, angling his body to face Link.

“Maybe I want to be taken advantage of,” Allen countered, voice lowering to a sulky murmur.

A blush flashed across Link's face. It was lovely. It was made even lovelier by the fact that Link didn't look away, not for a fucking second. Allen hated it. Hated that he couldn't stay mad at Link, not like this.

God, he just wanted to kiss him. To _touch_ him.

“You know, that kind of talk isn't particularly reassuring,” Link said gently.

“I like that you're older, okay?” He let out a sigh, the fight draining from little by little. Moving closer, loving the way Link's fingertips shifted just so against the back of his neck. “It's... grounding. You're mature. Stable. I, ah. I guess I've never dated anyone like that before.”

Link's eyes flashed.

“Really?”

“Really.” Allen reached out without thinking, hands wandering up Link's thigh, his stomach. He posed them both at the center of Link's chest, marvelling at his warmth. He felt solid and real. “It's... refreshing.” Beneath Allen's inquisitive touch, Link's heart rate began to pick up. Fastfastfast. Allen smiled. “Kinda hot, too.”

Link's licked his lips.

“I'm being serious here, Allen.”

“So am I,” Allen said, muffling a desperate little laugh.

He climbed forwards into Link's lap, too naive and too reckless and too young, too damned young _not_ to give in.

This time, Link didn't shift away, didn't pry Allen's hands from his body or issue any stern reminder. As Allen spread his legs to straddle Link, Link's hands settled over the jut of Allen's hips. He didn't push Allen away. Didn't pull him closer. Just held him there, studying him, pinned like an exotic specimen; lovely and strange, rarely held in captivity.

“I bet you like it too,” Allen preened, emboldened by Link's silence. He leaned up against the curve of Link's body, mouthing hot and excited against the shell of Link's ear. “The age difference.”

Allen felt Link's laugh more than he heard it.

“You're... you're absolutely ruining my lecture on informed consent.”

“Good,” Allen said. He pressed a chaste, playful kiss just above Link's cheekbone. “I wasn't interested in hearing it in the first place.”

A pretending sigh.

“You make a poor student, Allen Walker.”

“Guilty as charged.” Allen squirmed in Link's lap, fighting to bring the two of them closer. Link's hands wandered further up Allen's sides, pulsating with a nervous energy. “There. I've addressed your charge. Won't you answer mine?”

“And which charge was that again?”

“You're quick to forget,  _sir_.”

“It's unavoidable,” Link said. Allen was a doll beneath his hands; porcelain and bone china and dopey, enamel-bright eyes.

“You get off on it,” Allen said breathlessly. “Being older than me.” Link worried at his lower lip with his teeth, forcing his eyes away. As good as a confirmation. Allen grinned, victorious.“It's nothing to be ashamed of. Anyone would. Pretty young thing, sprawled out on your lap. Legs spread over your knees.”

“We've talked about this before,” Link answered vaguely. “The logic of temptation.”

His hands began to move again, back down across Allen's flanks and down, down to grip the softmost part of Allen's thighs; Allen felt a soft _squeeze_ as Link's hands tracked towards the pert curve of his ass.

With a start, Allen realized he was being _felt up._

_What a perfect mess._

“You feeling tempted, Mr. Link?” He purred, loving the feel of Link's hands on him, the way Link touched him like he _owned_ him. He could feel his cock beginning to take interest, straining hotly against the seam of his pants, a hot brand between their bodies. “Dirty old man.”

“Tempted? Certainly,” Link murmured. “No man is immune to temptation.”

“Not even pious men?”

“So I assume. I wouldn't know.”

“And here I thought you were a Christian.”

“I am,” Link agreed, hands not halting for a moment. “But I never claimed to be _devout_.”

The spark in Allen's gut was something like fear but much warmer, more coherent. It pooled inside of him, only growing deeper and headier as Link tested the soft give of Allen's inner thigh. With a firm touch, he spread Allen's legs apart with both hands. His touch was hot and shameless and obscene and _not enough,_ never _enough_.

“Are you certain you wouldn't like to take advantage? Just this once?”

“I already told you, not tonight.”

“Your hands are telling me something else,” Allen said, a violent shiver racing down his backbone.

“I'm only touching,” Link said, something silky-dark but subdued in the way his words cut off too short. He was dangerous and undecided, his sense of propriety battling with his desire; Allen could feel it rippling through the not-so unbroken calm. “Should I stop?”

“No,” Allen gasped. His hips bucked forwards involuntarily. He might've felt embarrassed about it if he wasn't _so fucking turned on._ “It feels... feels good.”

“You make it very difficult,” Link said, “to remain sensible, you know.”

“I've been told I have that effect— ” Link thumbed over one of Allen's nipples through his shirt, and then, with a certain detached curiosity, pinched his fingers together and tweaked it. “ _Oh!_ ”

“So sensitive.” Link massaged his thumb over the same place he'd pinched, as if to apologize. “I could get you hard just like this, couldn't I?” A low, throaty laugh — miles, miles away from the nervous, earnest man who'd cautioned Allen against fucking _peer pressure_. “Groping you through your clothes.”

_Yes. Yes._

“Fuck. Can you just,” Allen licked his lips, straining closer still, “I wanna, I wanna touch you. Can I? Can I?”

He fumbled blind for Link's pants, hands searching with a frantic, hopeless desperation for the loop of his belt. Link caught Allen's wrist before he could secure his target. His touch was gentle, but firm; there was a command here. Not an unkind one, mind you, but a command all the same.

“Wh—”

“I already said no,” Link said, voice remarkably steady. “You're gonna have to wait until tomorrow like a good boy.”

And that, _God_. That was enough to give Allen a motherfucking headrush.

“ _Jesus Christ.”_

“Thou shall not take the name of the Lord in vain,” Link reminded him, wry.

For the second time that night, Allen felt Link disentangling the two of them, creating distance. Allen didn't fight him. Instead, he slid out of Link's lap without resistance, falling back languidly into the plush warmth of the couch. He felt loose and pliant, as though drunk. Although he was positive Link could do something fun with his current elasticity, but didn't say anything. He'd already pushed his luck about as far as it would take him.

“I'd be pissed off if I wasn't so stupid horny,” Allen said, more to the ceiling fan above than Link proper. He let out a brief sound of exasperation. covering his face with both hands. “You're the worst. You drive me _crazy_. You know that, right?”

A gentle laugh.

“Drink your wine, Walker.”

Allen mused that over, dropping his head back against the seat with a soft, muted sound.

“The blood of the covenant?”

“Just an overpriced Sangiovese, I'm afraid.”

“It'll do.”

Ignoring the throbbing of his still half-hard cock, he reached lazily to the coffee table for his abandoned glass of wine. The cool touch of the glass against his heated skin was surprisingly pleasant; he fought the urge to press it up against his cheek.

Tonight's wine was a deep, rich purple; much darker than the bruises Link had left on Allen's throat , but the grapes that made them would have been spot-on.

He remembered prodding them in the mirror; admiring the pale, faintly bluish discoloration as if it were a particularly lavish piece of jewelry. There had been a kind of sadness in seeing those marks fade — especially the sharp little indentations of Link's teeth. But it would all be fine, soon enough. Tomorrow, tomorrow night, Link could replace those long-gone bruises with fresh bites, fresh kisses.

Allen cupped his glass in both hands and took a tiny, fastidious sip. At the other end of the couch, Link did the same. Allen watched his throat as he swallowed, a slow, cautious smile lighting across his lips.

“I really wanna kiss you,” he said. The words hung between them. They were heavy, so heavy, but Link's stare was heavier. It weighed on Allen's skin; an oddly palpable thing.

“I know.”

Allen looked back down into his wine, toying absently with the flute of the glass.

“Tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night,” Link agreed warmly.

“And will you take me back here? Back into your bed?”

A beat.

“If... you're amenable.”

Allen swirled his drink, watching the dark liquid climb the sides.

He was much, much more than _amenable_.

“And there'll be breakfast in the morning? Crepes with English cream, right?”

Link's laugh was bright and real; Allen had never heard such a sound from him before. It seemed he'd surprised it out.

“Breakfast is a guarantee. In fact, I wouldn't hesitate to say it's non-negotiable.”

“Good,” Allen said. His heard swelled with something strange and warm; not quite something new, no, but something old enough to be forgotten, now tumbling back into use. “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuckhowardlink @ twitter
> 
> >:T i promised ray i'd have an extra credit done this month and by god i keep my promises.......!!!!!! eventually!!!!! 
> 
> i love you ray!!!!! i love you even more than i hate this garbage fic. that says a lot.


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